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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592634">no mercy for you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/10redplums/pseuds/10redplums'>10redplums</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>waterdeep heist campaign [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons &amp; Dragons - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Cannibalism, Gen, Self-Harm, Vore, cannibalism as a metaphor for classism, canon-divergence, canon-typical dnd party - Freeform, dealing badly with your life of violence, no cannibalism/vore happens marek just thinks about it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:47:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592634</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/10redplums/pseuds/10redplums</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Marek deals with being kidnapped and tortured.</p><p>Edit: I wrote this between games; what wound up happening was very different and now my character has a simmering vendetta but that's just how games be! (and also fixed some spelling things.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>waterdeep heist campaign [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2095014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Banned Together Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no mercy for you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well.</p><p>There’s no way in any hell he’s going to ask any of his <em> housemates </em>to do this for him.</p><p>Maybe if he frames it to Corvis as keeping up morale… No, no.</p><p>He wonders if Cassander is still in the graveyard. He wonders if Cassander would do it for him. But… no, not them either. </p><p>He looks at his packed things. He hasn’t been in this town very long, certainly not long enough to warrant a second bag. He’s picked up, what, a little more gold. A book. A few potions. Debt to probably a crime lord, which he did say they could back out on as long as they left him the tavern, so that’s fine. Friends? Coworkers? Certainly coworkers. The girl Xia was friendly enough. He shakes his head, and leaves his bag where it is.</p><p>He’d asked her earlier why she was still here, after- after everything. She’d answered, he’s sure of it, he’d put money on it, but. Well. He’d done his best to get blackout drunk. The others had- agendas. He’d put money on that, too. Two of them, Pom and Vicdaer, were oddballs he hadn’t really spoken to, but. To stick around. They had reasons. The boy Jammal, as well. No flouncy sneering noble would stay after traipsing through sewers, only to get arrested, only to get thrown into a mad scramble between <em> four </em>of the city’s biggest crime lords, only to get knocked out and thrown somewhere before being spat back out. Not if he didn’t have something very dear to gain.</p><p>Corvis, well. He’d called himself a professional from day one. There was no questioning that he had plans. </p><p>Marek was a shitty kid from a shitty backwater who was in way over his head.</p><p>He locks the door. He’ll have to do this himself, then. If anyone’s in the building and they hear him, they’ll just think he’s masturbating. Probably. It’ll be fine. He takes his shirt off.</p><p>His brief stint in the military had taught him several things, one of which being <em> torture didn’t work. </em>People said anything to make the pain stop. Mostly what it did was give the assholes a nice place to take out the cruelty they hadn’t already taken out on the freaks fool enough to sign up for service. There was always more cruelty. </p><p>They’d healed him a little, if only to give him more flesh for them to cut away from him when he passed out from the shock. They’d done it three times. They didn’t need him pretty, only whole enough for their fun. Well, so much for his beach body, he supposes. He runs a hand over the ropy scars and sighs to himself. Winces when he presses on one that’s still tender. Grabs his dagger. Stuffs a handkerchief in his mouth. Sits on his bed, against the wall.</p><p>Briefly considers just cutting his hair off, first. It’s just hair. It’ll hurt less, and anyway it grows back. Maybe it’s time for a change. It’s getting very long, anyway. But no, he loves his hair. The child across the street used to play with it, braiding it and putting flowers in it. No, no. They hadn’t touched his hair.</p><p>He digs his dagger into the skin of his stomach. Cuts out the first scar. Nearly spits out the gag.</p><p>It’s slow going. Of course it is. When he’s not being embarrassingly loud as he cuts himself out he’s pausing to drink from his remaining health potions. He comforts himself, tells himself it’ll be over soon. And anyway, he can stop at any time. It’s just so many scars. But he can stop at any time. What are a few more?</p><p>He can stop at any time.</p><p>He’s so glad he took the attic.</p><p>The smell of copper fills the room as strips of his belly fill the bowl he’d brought up. Slowly, slowly, his stomach starts to look the way it did before all this ridiculous nonsense started. The scar tissue builds up, away from him. Through the haze he wonders if Bog, their dear goblin cook, could be persuaded to try a recipe with Marek’s blood. Has he ever cooked Aasimar? Marek could volunteer. Ha. Ha. He’d eat that. He’d eaten worse before. He wonders if the others have ever eaten people. Jammal, possibly? Something about seeing the unwashed masses as lower than cattle, maybe. Or maybe Corvis. Out of necessity. ... He wonders if any of them would eat him for pleasure. If he's ready to face that again. It is absolutely possible he’s lost more blood than he should have. He wraps some more cloth around the handle of the dagger as his blood makes his hands too slick. He’d forgotten to bring water to wash up with. Keeps going.</p><p>Lies down. He’s done many ridiculous things in his life. He can’t- he can’t do this every time something happens. For one thing, it’s expensive. Puts his hands down. He can clean the mess up later. He’s very good at washing blood out of things.</p><p> </p><p>Corvis kicks his door in, the cheap lock giving way easily under the man’s heavy boot. Marek sits bolt upright and immediately regrets it, hissing as the newly-healed flesh of his stomach protests.</p><p>“What the <em> fuck </em>,” Corvis says.</p>
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